Captive in the Dark

eBook Edition

Copyright © 2011 CJ Roberts

All rights reserved.

eBook Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to others unless a separate copy has been purchased. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 CJ Roberts, Neurotica Books 

www.aboutcjroberts.com 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Photo credit: Kurt Paris 

Cover design: Amanda Simpson 

ISBN: 978-1-4659-7686-4

This book is dedicated to:

My mom, for loving me no matter what, even when I followed you around the grocery store with a pack of adult diapers until you bought me chips. I love you!

My husband, for believing in me more than I believe in myself. I’ve never laughed with someone so hard. We may never agree on a thing, but there’s no one I would rather spend my life arguing with.

R. Robinson who has read this story in its many incarnations and continued to thirst for more. No doubt – you’re my number one fan. Thank you for always being so open and honest – and for never making apologies.

K. Ekvall and A. Mennie who ushered me through the Dark (ahahahah) so that I might emerge on the other side. Without your words of wisdom, critical observations, keen editing eyes, plethora of emails, and metaphorical kicks to the ass I would never have gotten this done. Thank you for not letting me give up.

S. Davis for reading my work when it was horrible and still believing in my talent.

A. Simpson for her incredible design talent. QAF Forever. Team Justin.

My Girls (you know who you are), meet me on the 13th floor with a bottle of wine; I have stories.

I love U!

Revenge, Caleb reminded himself. That was the purpose of all this. Revenge, twelve years in the planning and only a few months away in its execution.

As a slave trainer, he had trained at least a score of girls. Some were willing, offering themselves as pleasure slaves to escape destitution, sacrificing freedom for security. Others came to him as the coerced daughters of impoverished farmers looking to off load their burden in exchange for a dowry. Some were the fourth or fifth wives of sheikhs and bankers sent by their husbands to learn to satisfy their distinct appetites. But this particular slave, the one he eyed from across the busy street – she was different. She was neither willing, nor coerced, nor sent to him.

She was pure conquest.

Caleb had tried to convince Rafiq he could train any one of the other types of girls. That they would best be prepared for such a serious, potentially dangerous task, but Rafiq would not be moved. He too, had waited a long time to achieve his revenge and he refused to leave anything to chance. The girl had to be someone truly special. She had to be a gift so valuable that she and her trainer alike would be talked about by everyone.

After years of being the sole apprentice to Muhammad Rafiq, Caleb’s reputation had slowly built, establishing him as a man both efficient and single-minded in whatever tasks were entrusted to him. He’d never failed. And now, all those years had been for this moment. The time had come to prove his worth to a man he owed everything to as much as himself. There was only one obstacle remaining between him and vengeance. The last true test of his soullessness – willfully stripping someone of their freedom.

He’d trained so many he no longer remembered their names. He could train this one too, for Rafiq.

The plan was a simple one. Caleb would return to America and seek out a candidate for the 
Flower Sale
, what the Arabs called, the
Zahra Bay'
. The auction would take place in his adopted country of Pakistan in a little over four months. It was sure to be littered with beauties from the typical male-run countries, where acquiring such women was limited only by supply and demand. But a girl from a first world country – that would be considered an accomplishment.

Girls from Europe were highly sought after, though American girls were the crown jewels of the pleasure trade. Such a slave would solidify Caleb’s standing as a true player in the pleasure trade and gain him access to the most powerful inner circle in the world.

His goal was to find someone similar to what he was used to, someone exquisitely beautiful, poor, likely inexperienced, and predisposed to submit. Once he made his selection, Rafiq would send four men to assist Caleb in smuggling the girl out of the country and into Mexico.

Rafiq had contacted an ally who would provide safe haven in Madera during the first six weeks Caleb would need to help his captive acclimate. Once she was reasonably compliant, they would make the two-day trip to Tuxtepec and board the private plane. Eventually landing in Pakistan where Rafiq would assist Caleb in the final weeks of training prior to the
Zahra Bay'.

Too easy, Caleb thought. Though for a moment, it felt like anything but.

Caleb, from his vantage point diagonally across the street, glanced at the girl he’d been observing for the last thirty minutes. Her hair was pulled away from her face, a heavy frown played across her mouth as she stared intently at the ground before her feet. She fidgeted sometimes, alluding to a sense of restlessness she was unable to hide. He wondered why she seemed so anxious.

Caleb was both close enough to see, but hidden enough away, that all any would see would be a dark vehicle, heavily tinted, but non-descript. He was almost as invisible as the girl tried to be.

Could she sense her life as she knew it hanging precariously in the balance? Could she feel his eyes on her? Did she have a sixth sense for monsters? The thought of it made him smile.

Perversely, there was a part of him that hoped the girl did possess a sixth sense for spotting monsters in broad daylight. But he’d been watching her for weeks; she was completely oblivious to his presence. Caleb let out a sigh. He was the monster that no one thought to look for in the light of day. It was a common mistake. People often believed they were safer in the light, thinking monsters only came out at night.

But safety – like light – is a façade. Underneath, the whole world is drenched in darkness.

Caleb knew that. He also knew the only way to truly be safer, was to accept the dark, to walk in it with eyes wide open, to be a part of it. To keep your enemies close. And so that’s what Caleb did. He kept his enemies close, very close, so that he could no longer discern where they ended and he began. Because there was no safety: monsters lurked everywhere.

He looked down at his watch, then back up to the girl. The bus was late. Seemingly frustrated, the girl sat on the dirt with her backpack on her knees. Had this been a regular bus stop there would be others, meandering behind her or sitting by a bench, but it wasn’t, so every day Caleb could observe her sitting alone under the same tree near the busy street.

Her family was poor, the next most important factor after being beautiful. It was easier for poor people to disappear, even in America. And especially when the person missing was old enough to have simply run away. It was the typical excuse given by authorities when they couldn’t find someone. They must have run away.

The girl made no move to leave the bus-stop despite the fact that her bus was running forty-five minutes late and Caleb thought it was interesting for some reason. Did she enjoy school so much? Or did she hate home so much? If she hated home, that would make things easier.

Perhaps she’d view her kidnapping as a rescue. He almost laughed –
right
.

He eyed the girl’s shapeless, unflattering attire: loose fitting jeans, gray hoodie, headphones and a backpack. It was her consistent outfit, at least until she got to school. There, she would usually change into something more feminine, flirty even. But at the end of the day, she’d change back. He thought about her hating her home life again. Did she dress that way because her home life was restrictive or unstable? Or to prevent unwanted attention from a dangerous neighborhood to and from school? He didn’t know. But he wanted to.

There was something interesting about her that made Caleb want to jump to the conclusion she was the girl he’d been looking for, someone with the ability to blend-in. Someone with the good sense to do as they’re told when faced with authority, or do as they must when faced with danger. A survivor.

Across the street the girl fidgeted with her headphones. Her eyes stared dispassionately at the ground. She was pretty, very pretty. He didn’t want to do this to her, but what choice did he have? He’d resigned himself to the fact that she was a means to an end. If not her, then someone else, either way his plight would be the same.

He continued to stare at this girl, his potential slave, wondering how she would appeal to the target in mind. It was rumored that among the attendees at the auction this year would be Vladek Rostrovich, one of the wealthiest men in the world, and most assuredly one of the most dangerous. It was to this man the slave would be entrusted for however long it took Caleb to get close and destroy everything the man held dear to him. Then kill him.

Still, Caleb wondered, not for the first time, why he was drawn to her. Possibly it was her eyes. Even from a distance he could see how dark, how mysterious and sad they were. How old they seemed.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, when he heard the cough and squealing gears of the school bus approaching from down the street. He watched closely as the girl’s face relaxed in relief. It seemed to include more than just the arrival of the bus, but of escape, maybe even freedom. At last, the bus arrived, in perfect tandem as the sun finally rose to its full strength. The girl glanced up with a frown but she lingered, letting the light touch her face before disappearing inside.

• • •

A week later, Caleb sat in his usual spot, waiting for the girl. The bus had come and gone, but the girl wasn’t on board so he’d figured he’d wait and see if she showed up.

He was about to leave when he saw her round the corner at a dead run toward the bus-stop.

She arrived out of breath, almost frantic. She was an emotional thing. Again he wondered why she was so desperate to make it to school.

Caleb looked out through his car window at the girl. She was pacing now, perhaps with the realization she had missed her bus. It seemed unjust that just last week the girl had waited for nearly an hour for the bus to arrive, but this week the driver had not waited at all. No girl, no stopping. He wondered if she would wait another hour, just to be sure there was no hope. He shook his head. Such actions would only reveal a desperate nature. He both hoped she would and wouldn’t wait.

His fractured thoughts gave him pause. He shouldn’t have hopes at all. He had orders, his own agendas. Plain. Simple. Clear-cut. Morals had no place when it came to revenge.

Morals were for descent people, and he was as far from descent as a person could get. Caleb didn’t believe in the existence of any higher being or an afterlife, though he knew a lot about religion from growing up in the Middle East. But if there
was
an afterlife where a person reaped what they’d sown on earth, then he was already damned. He’d go to hell happily – after Vladek was dead.

Besides, if God or gods existed, none of them knew that Caleb did, or otherwise they hadn’t given a shit about him when it mattered. No one had given a shit about him, no one except Rafiq.

And in the absence of an all-punishing afterlife, Caleb needed to make sure Vladek Rostrovich paid for his sins right here on earth.

Twenty minutes later the girl started to cry, right there on the sidewalk, right in front of him.

Caleb couldn’t look away. Tears had always been mystifying to him. He liked looking at them, tasting them. Truth be told, they made him hard. He once abhorred this conditioned response, but he was long over self-loathing. These responses, these reactions, were a part of him now, for better or worse. Mostly worse he admitted with a smile and adjusted his erection.

What was it about such displays of emotion that just dug into his gut without letting go? Pure lust rolled through him like a heavy ache bringing with it a strong desire to possess her, to have power over her tears. Each day, he thought of her more as a slave than a riddle. Though she maintained an alluring type of mystery locked away in downcast eyes.

His mind flashed with images of her sweetly innocent face awash with tears as he held her over his knee. He could almost feel the softness of her naked bottom under his hand, the surety of her weight pressed against his erection while he spanked her.